


Two Months Later

by 1treehill



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17151572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1treehill/pseuds/1treehill
Summary: Two months after Holden Ford's nervous breakdown, he finds himself working with a Bill Tench who can barely look at him.





	Two Months Later

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my very PG-rated, simplistic version of Holden Ford in a fandom that seems to have much more complex, scary R-rated Holdens! I hope some people like it!

Two months after Vacaville, eight weeks after Kemper, after being suspended, after being released from the hospital, after splitting from Debbie, after nearly losing his friendships with Bill and Wendy, Holden Ford found himself at work in the basement at Quantico, wondering if he’d ever feel normal again. He had yet to be allowed back in the field. All interviews had been conducted by Bill and Gregg since his return. The coldness emanating from Wendy and Bill toward him had not abated. In fact, strangely enough, Gregg, of all people, was most friendly toward him. At least he seemed to harbor no resentment for him.

The past two months had been extremely painful for Holden. And he had no one to blame but himself. His nervous breakdown elicited some sympathy for a few weeks, even from Debbie, who visited him while he recovered at home. Strictly a friendly visit. She never returned. Bill brought some groceries, stressing that Nancy insisted he bring the fruits and vegetables over. Wendy stopped by once or twice, awkwardly inquiring after his mental health, eventually apologizing for not realizing what the job was doing to Holden’s physical and psychological well-being.

But Holden had put the entire Behavioral Sciences department at risk, particularly the project Holden had himself started and Wendy and Bill were in charge of. Shepard was predictably livid and unsympathetic. Holden’s two-week suspension, overlapping with his medical recovery time, clearly didn’t satisfy Shepard’s need for vengeance. Which didn’t even rattle Holden, as an angry and frustrated Shepard was par for the course as far as Holden Ford was concerned.

However, the continuing coldness from Bill Tench and Wendy Carr, well, hurt Holden. Particularly from Bill, who Holden had considered a friend as well as the best partner he’d ever had. Not that he’d had many beforehand. But once Holden returned to the office, Bill had kept his distance from Holden, both physically and emotionally. Holden understood, but that didn’t help.

Wendy and Bill assigned Holden prep work for the interviews and the occasional fieldwork they performed with the FBI units. It was important work, but not exactly engaging. One Wednesday, Holden received a call from Shepard’s secretary, to come up to Shepard’s office right away. He noticed Bill also hanging up his phone and rising from his chair. So, a team meeting. They shared an elevator ride in silence, which brought Holden memories of a better time, when they first received an okay for their project. This time was much more somber.

The two men were ushered into Shepard’s office. They quickly sat in chairs and waited for their boss to speak. Shepard looked fairly upbeat. He said, “We have a fairly simple situation that’s come up in Virginia. A convicted killer has escaped police custody and is on the run. We’ve been asked to come up with a profile to help capture him. That’s right. They actually want us to draw up a profile. Someone heard about your work, Holden. I don’t know if they read one of your drunk ravings to the newspapers or what, but they asked for your team. Now, this means that you’re off paperwork and back to field work.”  
Shepard paused dramatically, leaned forward toward Holden and asked, “Do you think you’re ready? I mean, really ready?”

Holden winced with discomfort but stopped himself from shrinking backwards. He answered, “Yes. Yes, of course. I am very ready.”

Shepard then turned to Bill. “Tench, since you’ll be point man on the search, I need to ask you. Do you think Ford is currently capable of fulfilling his duties?”

Bill looked at his hands and took his time answering. Holden swallowed in nervousness. “Yes, I believe he’s capable,” Bill said quietly.

Shepard smiled humorlessly. “Well, then that’s that. Go do your jobs.”

On the way out of Shepard’s office and down the hall, Holden tried to stop Bill. He reached out a hand toward Bill’s jacket sleeve. “Bill, thank you for—“

“No need, Holden. Just be professional and do your job. Okay?” Bill wasn’t even looking at Holden.

“What’s wrong, Bill? Why can’t you even look at me?” Holden felt his eyes tearing up and suddenly realized he needed to get away from Bill. “Never mind. I’ll see you later.” Holden walked quickly away.

Holden and Bill reported to the Alexandria division of the FBI the following Monday. Working with the agents and Alexandria police officers was a balm for Holden. These men knew nothing about his past, held nothing against him. It was freeing, really. And Bill didn’t undermine him at all. He simply worked around Holden. Which, if he wasn’t so busy, would hurt too.

The man they were hunting, Sanders John Boggson, was white, 45 years old, had been convicted of killing two young men in their 20s. He had kidnapped, raped, and strangled the men. There were perhaps five more young victims who could be connected to Boggson. He had somehow escaped during a transfer from the courthouse to the prison.

Unfortunately, Holden wasn’t sure how much help a profile would be in this situation. Boggson was running scared, desperate. His past behavior wouldn’t shed much light on his present actions, unless Holden could find something Boggson would be attracted to in Alexandria.

If the man was hiding, he could be anywhere. But it was winter and cold, so he must have somewhere to stay. Or met someone he was staying with. Boggson was somewhat good-looking, in a large mountain man sort of way. Holden could imagine someone finding him attractive. It would have to be an out-of-the-way, non-mainstream place to meet. But how would he find such a place? 

He brought up his idea with a few of the agents, but was met with either embarrassment or disgust. No one had any suggestions, as if they would taint themselves with merely having the knowledge. Holden was surprised by the attitude of the men, who looked at him strangely afterwards.

Holden noticed one officer, a large, bearish man, who seemed to match the physical type he was looking for. There was something about him that struck Holden as perhaps non-typical, if not deviant. He began talking to this man, Michael Collins, attempting to be friendly and not ask point-blank if he knew of anywhere secret where homosexual men could meet. Officer Collins responded with great interest to Holden’s general attempts at friendship, and finally Holden asked if there was anywhere he could take Holden after work to relax and get a drink, somewhere discreet. Collins agreed to take him to a great place.

Holden decided to let Bill know his plans. He managed to catch his attention just before he left the office. “Bill, Bill,” he said as Bill was about to turn away.

“Yeah, Holden. What?” Bill said, shortly.

“I’ve got this idea about looking into a potential place Boggson might be hiding out. Due to his predilections and his need for secrecy, I asked around and one of the officers is taking me to a homosexual bar that’s known for its discretion. I just wanted to let you know that’s where I’m going,” Holden said quickly.

Bill shook his head and said, “Wait. What? Okay. You’re making quite a big jump here.”

“I know, but he’s got to be staying indoors somewhere. It’s freezing outside, and it’s been a week and a half since he escaped,” Holden explained.

“You feel strongly about this?” Bill asked, seriously.

“Yes, enough to give it a chance. Officer Collins doesn’t suspect that’s why I’m going along with him, but it’ll get me in there, and I can at least look around,” Holden said.

Bill thought for a few seconds. “Okay, Holden. I’ll trust your instincts. But I’m going with you. I’ll wait outside, and then I’ll come in if you don’t come out after ten minutes. Okay? You’re not going alone.”

“I’m fine with that, Bill,” Holden said, allowing himself a small smile.

Holden left with Collins, while Bill followed in his own car. The bar was far off the main streets, and Bill found it difficult to follow them without being too obvious, but with years of experience, he managed it.

Bill parked a block away, within view of the front of the bar, which looked like a small farmhouse. He called in his location to the head office and let the agents know what they were doing. Then he nervously waited.

Holden and Collins walked into the house, which after a few turns of a hallway revealed itself to be a rather large bar filled with men— large older men and young, clean-cut men. Holden stared at the crowd with interest, noticing that the couples were matching the physical descriptions of himself and Collins. What was this about? And he could imagine someone like Boggson hiding out here, with its many winding hallways leading to unseen rooms.

Collins led Holden to a table, even pulling out a chair for him. He ordered two whiskeys for them and they toasted to the resolution of the investigation. Holden began noticing Collins eyeing him with obvious sexual interest, and he felt fascination rather than horror or embarrassment. He always wondered what anyone saw in him, and this was the first time a man had shown interest in him, or at least the first time he’d known about the interest.

After five minutes, he excused himself so he could search the house. He knew Bill would be coming in in about five more minutes. He looked into one room, and saw a hastily made-up twin bed. It had obviously been slept in recently. But the room was empty. Holden continued into the next room, which was a kitchen, small but well-stocked. As he turned the corner, he saw, at the last second, a heavy wooden board coming fast toward his head. He put up his left arm, and the board crashed into his arm, then smashed into his forehead.

Holden had a second to realize his arm was broken but that it probably saved his life before he blacked out and started to crash to the floor.

But before he hit the floor, Sanders John Boggson gracefully swept up Holden’s crumpling body into his arms, holding him in a dancer’s embrace. Then he slowly lay him down on the floor.

Boggson realized that he only had a few minutes. Most assuredly the young man’s partner would be looking for him. In fact, Boggson should be running away right now. But where would he go in this cold? And he had this beautiful young man to play with. He quickly removed the boring jacket and tie. Then he unbuttoned the stiff white shirt to reveal a thin undershirt. He gently placed the man’s arms out to his sides.

Boggson took a moment to really look at the boy. Young, innocent, smooth, clean, white. He lovingly drew his hand across the brow and the high cheekbones, outlined the lips, pulling them open. He put his hands gently around the delicate neck. Squeezed slowly. There would be no real violence tonight. There wasn’t time. But just this slow squeezing. Still the pale face turned pink.

Then an older man came barreling in, gun drawn. Shouting, something about letting him go. But Boggson decided he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to let go or go on. So he kept squeezing. And the man shouted another warning. And then a gunshot, then black.

Bill ran over to Holden, who was now underneath Boggson’s unmoving body. He roughly pushed Boggson off his partner. Collins came rushing in, drawn by the sound of gunfire undoubtedly.

“Collins, call for an ambulance, now!” Bill shouted. Collins ran back out to the payphone.

“Holden! Holden!” Bill shouted, panicked, looking for wounds. He immediately saw the blood dripping down from the head wound. And his left arm looked slightly strange and swollen. He checked Holden’s pulse, which seemed strong. Bill breathed a sigh of relief.

Collins came running back in. “I called for an ambulance. They’ll be here soon. Everything’s pretty close by here.”

“Thanks,” Bill said. He looked down at Holden, actually looking at his face for maybe the first time in maybe a month and a half. “Hang in there, Holden.”

Bill noticed Holden’s half-dressed state and wondered what had happened. He would worry about that later.

At the hospital, a CT scan ruled out a hematoma or skull fracture, but revealed a grade 3 concussion, meaning Holden had suffered severe brain trauma. The doctors told Bill that Holden would recover, but it would take a while and the effects might be quite serious— debilitating headaches, memory problems, exhaustion, dizziness, emotional instability.

“Does Mr. Ford have somebody to stay with while he recovers?” the doctor asked Bill, who responded by feeling instant guilt and dread. Followed by the realization that he would have to step up and do something he didn’t want to do.

“He’ll be staying with me and my family,” Bill told the doctor.

Bill had been avoiding Holden Ford for most of two months. He liked Holden a lot. When they were on road school, Bill considered Holden a good, though strange friend. The kid was so odd, so socially awkward. But he was also unlike anyone he had ever met before. And his thinking was so far out of the box that only he could have come up with interviewing killers to hopefully learn how to stop future murders. Or at least to try to find current killers. He was annoying as hell, but almost equally as funny.

But right before his breakdown, Holden Ford was also destructive and self-absorbed. And he let the killers get to him. But that wasn’t all his fault. Bill admitted that he should have been looking out for the kid better. When he had his collapse, Bill initially experienced a lot of guilt. But then, for his own sanity, he had to pull back on that and accept that Holden had to take responsibility for his own actions and behavior.

But every time Bill looked at Holden’s doe eyes, he felt that guilt start to creep back up on him. So he stopped looking at him. And then it became easier to stop dealing with him completely. He knew he was hurting the kid, but he had to defend himself.

Now Holden was in the hospital, unconscious still, two hours after getting hit in the head with a thick piece of wood. His left ulna was broken and his lower arm was in a cast. And the faint ghosting of bruises was just beginning to show on his neck from Boggson’s hands.

So, Bill was sitting by Holden’s bedside, sick with worry, sick with guilt. He took a break by talking to the on-scene officers, who went over what had probably happened prior to Bill shooting Boggson. They could only guess, since Boggson was dead, and Holden was unconscious. Bill was unduly worried about Holden’s half-dressed state for some reason. He knew Boggson had no time to actually sexually assault Holden, but seeing his partner in such a vulnerable position had disturbed him.

Bill called Nancy and told her everything. She agreed with him in her kindness that Holden should come stay with them until he recovered. Bill felt a wave of love for her when she told him this, which temporarily overcame any difficulties they had been experiencing.

Finally Holden awoke, but he was so groggy he could barely speak. He recognized Bill, but didn’t seem to know where he was and couldn’t answer any of the doctor’s questions, including what day it was. This concerned Bill, but the doctor seemed to think it fairly normal for a concussion followed by such a long period of unconsciousness.

Bill went home to sleep, and the next day brought a more alert Holden, though the young man couldn’t seem to stay awake for longer than 20 minutes. In fact, he would be speaking to Bill and fall asleep in midsentence, much to Bill’s amusement.

Holden’s memory improved, but his headaches were bad enough that painkillers were necessary. After 4 days, Holden remembered most of what happened at the bar with Collins, though didn’t remember anything about Boggson.

The doctor informed Holden he would be released in a day, and Bill realized he had to tell his partner about the recovery plans. Holden was shocked, to say the least.

“I’m coming home with you? I don’t need to be taken care of, Bill. I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary,” Holden said, unable to meet Bill’s eyes.

“It is necessary, Holden,” Bill explained patiently. “You won’t be able to do much by yourself for a few weeks at least. You’ll be dizzy, you won’t be able to drive or do any physical activity. And you’ve been falling asleep like a narcoleptic. Don’t worry about it.”

Holden remained silent for a half a minute. Then he said, “Bill, you can hardly stand to look at me. Let’s be serious. I don’t expect this from you.”

It was Bill’s turn to be thoughtful. “Holden, I know it’s been… weird between us for a while. But I’m okay with this. And Nancy insists. I know you don’t expect it from me, but that’s my fault. I haven’t been fair to you. Let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t have anything to make up to me,” Holden said, eyes downcast.

Bill sighed dramatically. “No arguing. You’re coming home with me. Just for a bit. Okay? That’s that.”

Holden spent the next few weeks sleeping, resting, watching TV, and staring out the window of the Tench home. Nancy treated him like a king, bringing him meals in bed, buying him magazines at the store. But it was clear Holden was depressed. He was quiet, melancholy.

Nancy begged Bill to talk to Holden, but Bill initially refused. Finally Bill nervously approached Holden and said, “Hey, kid. Nancy thinks you’re feeling kind of down. You want to talk to Wendy about it?”

Holden quickly answered, “No! No. I’m fine.” And Bill dropped the subject.

At dinner one night, Holden didn’t say one word. Brian finally asked, “What’s wrong with you, Holden?”

Holden looked up suddenly, eyes blank and dull. “Nothing,” he said and looked back down.

After dinner, Bill found himself alone with Holden, who was staring out the window at the dark night.

“What’s going on, Holden?” Bill asked simply.

“What do you mean?” Holden said in a monotone.

“Don’t give me that. You’re clearly depressed. I know that the doctor said this can happen with a concussion. But is it something more? Is something bothering you?" Bill asked.

Holden swallowed, looked back out the window and turned back to Bill, eyes swimming with tears.

“Is something bothering me? Seriously, Bill? Let’s see. I have a nervous breakdown while dragging my coworkers and girlfriend down with me. She leaves me, and my partner hates me. I spend two months doing scut work and just when I get a chance to prove my worth again, I get attacked by a killer who practically undresses me, does God knows what to my unconscious body instead of escaping, and now I have to recover again.”

Holden suddenly stopped, looking confused and horrified. He sniffled, childishly wiped his tears away, and looked back out the window.

Choosing his words carefully, Bill said, “Holden, I’ve never hated you. I felt guilty. I let you get too far into the interviews and didn’t watch your back. I was too worried about the OPR and our funding and not concerned enough about you. I’m not saying you were guiltless. I’m saying you made a lot of mistakes, some of them because you’re young and you’re learning. I’m saying that you’re my friend, and it’s not your fault that I couldn’t deal with feeling guilty.”

Holden’s lip quivered as he asked, “Bill, when did I become so easily victimized? First Kemper, and then Boggson. And what did Boggson do to me? Why did he do it? He could have run away. Why did he stay? What’s wrong with me?”

Bill gave Holden a confused look. “Holden, you’ve worked with victims of crimes before. You know they never do anything to deserve being victims. What do you mean, what’s wrong with you?”

Holden looked haunted and angry. “I feel like less of a man. Does that make any sense?”

Bill gave Holden a startled look. “I understand what you’re saying. But it’s not true. You’ve had a tough time. But you’re gonna be okay. I trust you with my life. If you weren’t strong, I couldn’t say that.”

Holden chuckled. “And here I felt like such an open-minded sort of person. I really don’t think women are weaker than men. I just… you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bill said warmly. “Kid, you’re not alone. Just know that. You’ve got me. You need to talk, I know I’m not the best listener, but I’m here. I’m just here.”


End file.
